


The Talk

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Guilty Sam, Human Castiel, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Cas have a day out together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Talk

Cas leans his glass over the table towards Sam's and clinks up against it with a smile. Sam returns the smile; thin, battling between mirth, affection, and a vague attempt at being serious. He's got things to do here. Things he needs to say.

“I have enjoyed today immensely, Sam. Thank you for making time for me.”

Sam nods in agreement. “It's been good. And...of course. Any time,” he adds, more in reflex than anything else. Because he's stalling for time.

Sam looks at Cas, and really looks at him.

Cas looks...he looks good. Not out of place, or out of his depth, or even like he doesn't belong. Because he does. Cas, Sam thinks, is probably a better human being than most, even if he is still pretty new at it.

Six months isn't that new, not really, he supposes. But there's been a whole lot of human things Cas has picked up effortlessly in that time, and he's proud of him.

Also slightly angry at him still. It's fading, and it's not like Cas doesn't deserve his anger because he does really, in a way, he's sure he does. But still.

Dean deserves it more, he thinks, sighing inwardly. Always Dean. There's always residual, exasperated anger at Dean with these things.

He's even more angry at himself, though, and that's what makes the entire situation that much worse. Not so much angry, he tells himself, then grimaces as he realises just how often he has these ridiculous conversations. With himself.

No, less angry, and more... surprised? Disappointed?

How can he have been so completely and utterly clueless?

***

“Is Pluto even a planet at the moment?” Sam studied the solar system display lit up in front of them, a hand resting lightly on the information chart in front of it. Cas turned very slightly towards him, raising his eyebrow in question.

Sam waved his hand in Pluto's direction. “Pluto. It... scientists, I guess. Keep changing its status. One day it's a planet, next it's a planetesimal, or a pseudo-planet, or something else. Hard to keep up.”

Cas turned back to the display, considering it thoughtfully. “Pluto is, and always has been a planet, Sam. It was created thus. It cannot 'change status' as though it has a Facebook profile,”

Sam let out a surprised laugh, firstly at the air quotations which yeah, Dean was right, really were hilarious, and secondly at his reference to Facebook.

“Since when do you go on Facebook?”

Cas shrugged, walking along to the next display; greenhouse gases on Venus and its toxic-for-humans atmosphere. “I don't. Dean showed me it, and I didn't like it. It appears to be a platform for attention-seeking and endless updates on uninteresting activities. Also baby photos,” he frowned, tsking at an inaccuracy in the text he was reading. “Can I ask them to correct this?”

“Uh...no.”

“It is pointless providing information if it is incorrect, Sam. It is...misleading.”

Sam grinned, and it felt like he hadn't stopped grinning since they had set off from the bunker in the morning. It had been odd at first; both being a passenger to Cas instead of Dean, and the very idea of he and Cas spending an entire day alone together. That never happened.

Not that he didn't like Cas. He loved Cas, like he loved his brother, which also meant he got to hate him once in a while too. But love or hate, he didn't get to spend much time with him on his own.

So today was their day. They'd stopped for pancakes; what was it about Cas and pancakes? Whenever there was a choice for breakfast, pancakes was always Cas' suggestion, and his hopeful, pleading expression nine times out of ten won both he and Dean out.

Cas clearly went to this particular pancake house often, judging from the easy way the waitress greeted him and the guy behind the counter reached out to clasp his hand. He even had a regular table, which he led Sam over to in a completely unaffected way as though the weave between the tables was a well-practised route.

“No honey?” Sam teased as Cas reached past a jar of it with a ridiculously oversized bee forming part of the logo, for the syrup, to pour on the freshly arrived pancakes in front of them.

Cas looked at him shrewdly. “That I find the work of bees miraculous does not mean I insist on bee-related products at all times. This syrup is delicious. You should try it,” and after drowning his own pancakes in it, he passed it over to Sam.

They'd driven for a while, the car filled with idle conversation about shared interests and easy middle-of-the-road subjects. Sam recounted several stories of Dean from their youth which Cas found hilarious, and Cas in turn told tales of various battles he'd experienced in his garrison, finally managing to make Sam understand, to some extent, some Enochian jokes.

Sam had actually wiped away tears of laughter at one point, which for a moment had Cas looking over at him in concern and offering to pull over. Which just made Sam laugh all the more.

“I agree,” Sam said, coming back to the present, “Inaccuracies are misleading. But it'll cost them a fortune to change this,” he said, whilst gesturing at the offending text. “Plus, think about it. What kind of authority are you on this stuff? In their eyes I mean,” he added quickly as Cas raised his eyebrows again. “You can't exactly say 'I am a – was, an angel of the Lord and helped build all this.'”

Cas sighed, a small, impatient sigh. “Strictly speaking, Sam, I had no hand in that particular part of the Creation,” he walked on to another display with Sam following behind him, fighting back another laugh, “But. I see your point. I have no... 'pieces of paper'... to tell anyone that my knowledge is vaster than everyone else's in this museum.”

Which just set off Sam again.

The museum had been Sam's idea. Something he'd wanted to check out anyway, and the chance for Cas to see something of the normal, run-of-the-mill information that filled – littered, Cas would probably say – museums up and down the country. Cas was fascinated, smiling affectionately at what he called the 'human perception of the universe' as though it was the cutest thing he had ever witnessed, chuckling to himself at things that Sam had no clue why were funny. But every now and then, like the thing with Venus, that Sam still remained clueless about, Cas grew indignant, and marginally condescending. It was bordering on endearing, Sam thought, shaking his head at himself.

“We should take a gift for Dean.” Cas peered curiously through the gift shop window on the way out and then up at Sam, who gave an indifferent shrug of agreement and followed him in. They spent what felt like a long time playing - and yes, Sam admitted, they were actually playing, just like he'd normally be doing with Dean in a place like this - with the various gadgets, with Cas taking a particular liking to a perfectly scaled rocket and a puzzle that seemed to use anti-gravity to push a ball up a slope.

When they got back to the car, Cas instantly clutched his stomach. “We need lunch,” he said with the utmost seriousness, making Sam smile wide.

“Dean's been a bad influence on you,” he said, sliding into the car.

Cas also got in, turned the engine over before turning to Sam with a very patient expression on his face. “We all have to eat, Sam. Regularly. I wonder on occasion if it would have been wiser to make all creatures autotrophic rather than heterotrophic,” he mused, releasing the brake and turning out of the car park. “But then I would never have experienced the joy that is food.”

Sam had no response to that at all, other than, “Where do you wanna eat?”

“You should choose. I chose breakfast.”

It was a late lunch, which justified the size of their plates, Sam thought, eyeing up the bowl of onion rings on one side between them and the mound of salad on the other.

Cas began sorting through the pasta dish in front of him and distastefully picking out olives, piling them on the edge of Sam's plate. He froze, mid fork, eyes growing wide as he looked up.

“I apologise, Sam. I forgot myself. Normally I do this with Dean.” he offered in explanation, slowly bringing his fork back down to his plate.

Sam snorted. “Dean hates olives.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed, “But he allows me to put them on his plate anyway.”

“...why?”

Cas sat back, looking every inch as though he was thoroughly considering Sam's question. “Now that you bring it to my attention, I really have no idea,” he settled on, his tone full of surprise.

Sam found he could say nothing and instead nudged his plate towards Cas, telling him to continue.

Sam discovered that Cas was a demon at air hockey. They'd passed a table on the way out of the food hall and Cas had insisted they play. Within minutes, he was viciously slamming his puck skidding across the table and into Sam' goal more times than Sam had time to show surprise at, or try to defend. It took him a few more minutes to actually fight back, and by the time they'd finished, breathless following a little too much enthusiasm, Cas positively beamed at him.

“You are much better at this than Dean,” he said, delight evident, and then turned back to him with a pause, “Do not tell him I said that.”

***

Sam's going to have to say something. Of course he is, that's sort of why today's even happening.

Today's been a great day, and he feels a little guilty that he's so surprised at that. Cas has always been fun, even if at times it is just in his own peculiar way, and they've had numerous, amazing, downright fascinating conversations together about all sorts of things that intrigue him, in all the time they've known each other. Sam appreciates Cas' knowledge, and still sometimes finds himself a little in awe at him, for what he is, or was.

And then he'll go and do regular guy stuff, like he is now, fumbling at the edge of a dish of peanuts on the table and people watching with that slightly-too-heavy stare of his.

Cas is a good guy, Sam decides, yet again. And okay. So at times he's messed up, like they all have, and there's been dishonesty there at times too, even if it has been with the best of intentions.

Dishonesty isn't really the problem now though, he thinks, knowing deceived isn't something he has any real right to be feeling.

It's not Cas' fault that he himself is beyond clueless sometimes, about the things he really, really shouldn't be clueless about.

***

Last week

“I swear you still heal faster than we do, Cas,” Dean said, tracing a finger along a faint pink line on Cas' chest before bending down to kiss it.

Cas gave a contented little hum, running his hands over Dean's sides with a smile; he always loved the feel of Dean’s skin fresh from the shower, especially when it was all pressed up against his. “Perhaps.”

“I'd still prefer you never got hurt in the first place,” Dean added, his voice troubled, reaching out to trail his hand down Cas' hip over an older scar.

Cas pressed his fingertips just under the edge of Dean's jaw and raised his head, pulling him upright. “I am fine, Dean,” he said softly, “It is you who is injured.” And to prove his point, Cas gently took him by his waist and turned Dean's back to the mirror, waiting for Dean to look round at his reflection.

In the middle of his back there was a long gash; several really, formed in the perfect shape of five razor-sharp nails scraping across him, from right shoulder blade to just above left kidney. There was also the beginnings of bruising over his right rib, trailing round tendrils of colour to his back.

Dean shrugged. “Not the first or last time one of us got hit by the thing we're tryna gank,” he told him, eyes dragged away from his wound and back to Cas' face.

Cas sighed, then trailed his hands up Dean's chest to cup his face, and pulled him into a long kiss.

Dean wrapped his arms around him after, breathing in deeply against his hair.

“We're good, Cas. We're good.”

“Hmm,” Cas grumbled, “Let me clean this for you.”

Dean turned away, leaning down slightly against the sink and bracing for the sting that was to come from Cas cleaning out his wounds. He sucked in a little breath at the deepest of one of the gashes, and Cas leaned in to kiss his shoulder, mumbling sympathies and apologies against his skin as he worked.

“Almost done,” he said, applying a liberal amount of antiseptic cream over each of the scratches, one hand pressed to just above his hip where he continued to circle his thumb soothingly.

Cas reached around Dean to wash his hands, indicating he'd finished.

Dean grabbed a hand towel from their side and gently reached out to dry Cas' hands, taking a long time to dry each finger and lightly tickle against his palms. Cas let out a little squeak of protest, which made Dean laugh, and turned back around so that he could pull Cas back into his arms.

Cas pressed them back against the sink, mindful that the sink edge not press into any of Dean's injuries, before angling his face up to kiss him again.

Dean sighed into him, groaning a little when Cas scratched his nails through his hair as he leaned his chest heavily against his. Dean's hands trailed down Cas' sides, then ghosted their way over to grab his ass, lightly digging his fingers in, in a way that made Cas moan in appreciation.

Dean moved one hand to hold the small of Cas' back, and the other dropped lower, lightly pressing a finger down, and down, in a way that had Cas arching a little back against his fingers.

Cas slipped one hand between them, raising himself a little so that he could take them both in his hand, and stroke.

They lost themselves in a series of sighs and whispered, stuttering gasps, oblivious to anything besides each other.

And then, “...Dean...”

***

Which is when Sam had managed to sneak up on them, without actually sneaking.

Cas had frozen when Sam had said Dean's name, and it took Dean a second to realise something was wrong. He'd taken in the carefully neutral expression on Cas' face as he looked past over his shoulder, remembering at the last moment that they were both stood there very much naked.

Dean spread his hands wide over Cas’ ass as though to cover his modesty, and held him perfectly still against him. Cas loosened his grip on them from the space between their stomachs, which made them both have a little uncontrolled intake of breath, before his hand fluttered up to rest on Dean’s hip.

Sam's eyes were comically wide, staring one moment then darting away in embarrassment the next.

“You okay there, Sammy?” Dean said, a slight hitch to his voice and a blush on his cheeks, but no movement at all. There wasn't really much point; Sam could see everything, and exactly what had been happening in front of him.

“Sam?” Dean tried again when he didn't reply.

Sam shook his head as though to clear it rather than in disagreement, pounding his palm against his temple with a look of utter confusion on his face.

“Sam!” Dean barked out at his lack of response.

“Uh...” was all he could manage, before turning quickly on his heel and leaving the room.

Dean turned back to Cas with a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes, leaning down to kiss him once more. “I think,” he said, kissing a trail down his neck before coming back up to his lips, “You and me need to take a raincheck and pick this up again later. Think we best go speak to Sam.”

Cas nodded, kissing him back. “He seemed so... surprised.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed softly against his lips, but staring out at the doorway with a small frown. “How? Can't be the first time, can it? I mean. We're not always exactly discrete, are we?”

Cas rested his hands on Dean's hips as he pushed away from him lightly so that he could stand freely, but his hands then continued to trail a path along his chest. “No. We are not.”

Dean brought his hands up to Cas' face, long fingers holding it gently as he leaned to kiss him again. “Can't get enough of you. As you well know,” and with that he winked, pulling away with a grumble so that they could both get dressed.

They found Sam sat, still wide eyed, fingers clutching around a mostly-empty tumbler of whiskey. They sat down opposite, silently waiting for him to do something.

Eventually he managed, “So.”

“So,” Dean echoed, his hand resting on Cas' knee under the table and drumming an absent tune. “Anything you wanna say?”

“This...this...” Sam began, a little helplessly, “What is this?”

Dean started up a crack about the birds and the bees, but Cas' squeeze of his hand stopped him before he could; Cas read him so easily.

Instead, he tried, “C'mon, Sam.”

“Don't 'c'mon, Sam', me, Dean,” he glowered.

“Look. I'm sorry you walked in on us... uh...” and Dean paused to clear his throat. “You know. But you don't have to act all wounded about it.”

“Wounded? I'm not wounded,” Sam seethed, slinging back the rest of his drink down his throat and bringing the glass down on the table with a thud. “I'm pissed off.”

“Sam. Seriously, just stop, okay? Not like I've never walked in on you-”

“Stop, right there.”

Dean's hands flew up in defence and he sat back a little in his seat.

“'cause I'd never bring casual sex back here without warning you, would I? And,” he continued, glaring over at Cas before back at Dean, “if you two are doing some kind of... friends-with-benefits thing, don't you think you could have told me? I mean. C'mon, Dean. We live here. The three of us. There’s... got to be some kind of...boundaries set for these things. And,” and he leaned forward in his seat, completely warmed to his subject in his rage, “Don't you think this,” with an absent wave aimed at them, “just makes things a little complicated all round?”

He slumped back then, arms folded, awaiting an explanation.

Dean opened and closed his mouth, staring back, his voice taken from him. Cas leaned towards Dean a little, mumbling, “'Friends-with-benefits'?” before turning a curious eye back to Sam.

Dean cleared his throat, and spoke very, very quietly. “It's not 'casual sex', Sam. And it's not 'friends-with-benefits' either. C'mon, Sam. Seriously? How can you say stuff like that after all this time?” Dean sounded genuinely baffled and looked to Sam for understanding.

“What, you're above casual sex all of a sudden?” Sam's tone was more than a little unkind, and it showed in the way Dean's face clouded over. Cas linked his fingers through Dean's on his lap.

“It isn't 'just sex', Sam.” Cas took a turn at talking. “It hasn't ever been 'just sex'.”

Sam's eyes narrowed.

“Not just sex.”

“No.” Dean snapped back.

Sam continued to stare, completely bewildered. “'...all this time...?'”

“Yeah, Sam. I mean, c'mon.”

“So. You two. Are a thing.” Sam looked at them both earnestly for confirmation. They gave it with a solitary in sync nod.

“And you've been a thing. For a while,” He continued, very slowly, as though he really didn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“And it's not just a thing, either. Kinda offended that you'd think I'd see him that way. He's a damn sight more than a thing to me.” Dean really did sound offended, and Cas caught his eye to give him a reassuring smile.

Sam continued to stare, as though waiting for someone to let him in on the joke. When no such thing happened, a slow trickle of understanding crept onto his face.

“So. How long have you...uh...?” He tried.

Dean shuffled a little, still on edge. “Why's that matter if it's just a thing?” he hissed at Sam, and Sam finally had the good grace to look abashed.

“Yeah. How long have you two been...together?” He tried to keep the stumble from the last word, but failed, miserably.

Dean glared at him, before letting out a sigh. “Uh... how long...” he repeated, looking to Cas for help. “We've never really done the anniversary thing, have we?”

Cas nodded, and mused, drumming his fingers on the table whilst he thought. “Perhaps... three years.”

Sam sucked in a breath. “Three years?”

Dean tilted his head back towards Cas. “You sure? I kinda thought it was longer?”

Cas shrugged, and smiled. “It does not concern me how long it has been, only that it has been.”

Dean smiled back softly, and Sam let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“Three years?” he repeated again.

Dean took his turn at incredulous. “Yeah, Sam. Are you seriously telling me you didn't know about this?”

Sam just shook his head, slowly.

Dean becomes exasperated. “How? How have you not noticed? I mean...” And Dean turned a little to look at Cas and his face softened into a smile. “We're always together.”

“But...” Sam started before the words escaped him again.

“But what? What are you, blind?” Dean demanded.

“But... how...when....what?” Sam tried.

“Sam,” Cas said gently. “I want to assure you that I love your brother, very much. I would take my own life before I would do anything to harm him.”

Dean beamed. “Back at you,” he whispered, affectionately.

The look between them then Sam already knew well; he'd seen it a hundred times before. But he'd never, ever joined the dots and seen the picture it made for what it was.

Oh. His brain said to him stupidly. Oh...

And then, “Three years? Cas. Not to state the obvious, but you've not been human more than five minutes. How?”

Dean let out an impatient sigh, “Need me to draw you a diagram, Sam?”

Cas nudged against his arm to stop him. “Firstly, Sam. I have 'been human' for more than half a year now. And I was becoming more human in character, long before I ever was. And of course, my vessel has always had human anatomy.”

“Hell, yeah it has,” Dean mumbled softly, casting an appreciative eye in the direction of Cas' lap; Cas fought to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up into a smile.

Sam's eyes just widened. He held his breath, breathing through his nose. “So it’s...not just... not just...”

“Not just sex? No,” Dean answered for him with a curt laugh.

“Since when do you do actual relationships, Dean?” Sam managed in a rush of words, eyebrows arched high and still clinging to a shred of 'this is a joke, right?'.

“Dean chuckled. “Uh. 'bout three years ago...”

***

“So,” Sam clears his throat, all kinds of awkward for how he's even going to start this conversation.

“You know I like you, Cas.”

Cas nods his head. “And I, you, Sam. I am honoured to be your friend.”

“Family,” Sam corrects automatically, and surprises himself with how that rang completely true. “You're family, Cas. You have been. For a while now,”

Cas blushes, his smile lighting up his entire face in a way that makes Sam's heart soften. “It is very good to hear you say that, Sam. I had begun to fear you did not approve.”

Sam winces at that; he'd not to stopped to consider how Cas – or Dean, really – might have taken his reaction. Overreaction, his mind whispers at him, and he winces again.

And suddenly, that last residual spot of anger dissipates, with Sam wondering why it had ever really been there at all. “It's not about approval, Cas. Honest. I shouldn't have let you think otherwise.” Sam nods slightly, more to himself than anything. “And of course I approve.” His smile is wide, and genuine.

Cas just keeps on smiling back.

“I guess I was just...surprised. Majorly surprised,” Sam laughs, shaking his head at himself. “And surprised that I was surprised, really. It's completely obvious now, looking back.”

Cas looks down at the table for a glimpse, face flushing a different kind of blushing this time. “If we should be more discrete...”

“Uh... no, no. I just... I'll just...learn to pay attention a little more. And knock,” he adds, fighting off the image of Dean and Cas in the bathroom and-

Nope. Not going there.

“We can all compromise,” Cas offers, his eyes shining in a way that tells Sam he knows exactly what he's thinking.

Sam closes his eyes for a second in embarrassment, then leans back across the table to clink their glasses together.

“So,” after a moment of what is now completely relaxed silence between them, and he has accepted that he, Sam Winchester, is a total, total idiot, Sam asks, “I guess there's no point in doing the usual warning thing with you, huh?”

Cas raises an eyebrow.

“You know. 'Don't hurt my brother or I'll break your legs'?”

Cas laughs, and it's warm, and Sam feels silly. And thinks that he deserves to feel silly. Very very silly indeed. “You can warn me all that you wish, Sam. If I do anything to hurt Dean, you are welcome to hurt me in any way you choose. But I have every intention of that being completely unnecessary,” Cas promises.

Sam grins back at him, laughing at himself. This conversation that he'd been dreading all day, yet felt he really needed to have with Cas, has in the end proved pointless, and absolutely not needed at all. He feels more than a bit foolish, in fact there’s not enough words about stupidity that he could use to describe how he’s feeling, but that was no one's doing but his own, he can see that.

“I am very pleased though, Sam. To have your approval. It means...everything. To me,” Cas ducks his head a little shyly.

“Hey. You make Dean happy. Now that I've got my head out of my ass and opened my eyes, it's pretty obvious. It's probably always been pretty obvious,” he adds with a huff to himself. “So that's all I need from you to make me approve.”

“Thank you, Sam. Truly.” Cas reaches a hand across the table to rest on Sam's arm, and looks at him as though seeking the final reassurance he needs from him of his acceptance. Sam hesitates, then reaches over to pat the back of Cas' hand, which seems to please him immensely.

“And make sure he keeps making you happy too, Cas. I know what my brother's like,” Sam warns him lightly.

“I believe I also know your brother quite well,” Cas replies easily, and there's a lot of implied, hidden truth behind that simple fact that Sam wants not to think about at all.

He's going to have to brace himself for more accidental... walk-ins, he thinks, groaning a little.

“And I must confess, Sam,” Cas continues, oblivious to Sam's internal monologuing, “I am still somewhat surprised that you did not know until-”

Sam hurriedly raises his hand to cut off his words.

“Yeah, I know Cas. I know. I keep going back over stuff and... yeah. I'm so… completely… utterly oblivious. I mean. I've teased you guys,” he shakes his head again. “And still I-” and he just stops, because what's the point in continuously repeating things that they both already know?

Instead, Sam drains his glass, and nods towards Cas'.

“You want another?”

Cas plays with the glass in his hand, thinking.

“Or do you wanna head home?” To Dean, Sam thinks, his voice changing into his thirteen year old self teasing his big brother about his new girlfriend. Which just makes him want to throw his head back and howl.

“We could see if Dean would like to eat with us. Pizza? I don't feel we should ask Dean to cook for us,” Cas reasons, and Sam readily agrees.

“Yeah. And I don't feel like cooking, I don't know about you. Not even to heat something up. Besides,” Sam shifts a little, “It's not like he's ever gonna trust us in the kitchen with anything more than... cutting and stirring, is it? ‘Not in Dean’s Domain’,” he says in a mocking voice that makes Cas smile; it’s a phrase Dean throws at them any time they attempt to do anything in the kitchen without his express permission.

“I am unconvinced he will even allow us to do that, Sam. He actually removed a spoon from my hand yesterday. I was merely going to taste the soup,” His voice drifts off, a touch forlorn.

Sam laughs, completely at ease, and waits for Cas to finish his beer before saying, “Let's go home.”

***

“Hey, we're back,” Sam calls out in the direction of the kitchen as they return to the bunker.

Dean sticks his head around the corner. “Hey,” he replies, “You caught me,”

“Caught you?” Sam asks, stepping forward and sliding three boxes of pizza and a pack of beer on to the table.

“Yeah...” and Dean sounds a little embarrassed. “I got...bored. With Cas g-” and he stops himself, “-you, gone all day. So I baked.”

Which is when Sam's eyes take in the plates and racks of cookies on the kitchen counter behind Dean. Tonnes of them.

“You made cookies?” Cas' voice joins theirs, and it's hopeful, and pleased, as he bends to drop his and Sam's bags down on the floor.

“Uh huh.”

Cas huffs, very happily. “Would that be anything to do with me telling you that I couldn't stop thinking about cookies and a glass of milk before bed last night?” he asks, his voice curving up along with his grin.

Dean turns away for a moment, then turns back, breaking off a quarter of a cookie and feeding it to Cas to try. “Might've had something to do with it.”

Cas chews, makes a pleased sound and smiles a reward in Dean's direction. “It's good, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Dean smiles, and steps forward, hands finding Cas' hips as Cas lightly rests his hands on Dean's shoulders.

“Hi,” Dean says, leaning in to kiss him. Cas stretches up against him and sighs in contentment, cat-like, Sam thinks as he watches them in silence. This bit he doesn't mind walking in on, or being present for, not one bit. It's kinda cute.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” he says, nuzzling against him. “Good day?”

“It was. A very good day,” and he turns to Sam who just smiles on back with a nod of complete agreement. “We have a gift for you,” Cas tells him, kissing him softly again.

Dean grins, “You do?” and makes grabby hands toward the bags on the floor, which Cas bats away dismissively.

“After pizza. I'm hungry.”

***

It’s a little later when their bellies are all full and they’re cleaning up, when Dean sidles up to Sam and nudges him on the arm.

“Thanks for today, man. He’s been,” and Dean turns in the direction of Cas even though he’s not currently in the room with them, before turning back with an affectionate smile, “worrying, about you hating him all of a sudden. Like this is gonna change anything between the three of us.”

Sam thinks he hears a shred of a question there in Dean’s voice, like he too needs that reassurance, and he readily goes to give an answer.

“Hey. The only thing that needs to change is that I need to open my eyes a little. Or close them,” he quickly changes his mind with a horrified look on his face, which just makes Dean laugh.

“Hey.” Dean raises his hands, palms out. “No judgement. Whatever makes you happy, man.”

“Seeing...that... will not make me happy, Dean,” Sam’s voice is a stutter of choked embarrassment, which Dean can’t help laughing at even more.

“But we’re, good. Right?” Dean asks after a moment when he’s managed to bite down on the mirth written all over his face.

Sam reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Yeah. We’re good, Dean.”

They pause and look at one another for a moment, silent words streaming between them that don’t need saying out loud.

Dean is the one to break the eye contact with a soft grunt of dismissal. “Good talk,” he says, grabbing a plate of cookies and leaving Sam to stare after him with a grin.


End file.
